Nicknames

This blog post and idea are unabashedly stolen from my sister's recent blog, which you can read here. I thought her's was so cute, I just had to do one.

Our dogs are loved, that’s for sure. Recently, we came up with this list of all his various names that they have. They know them all, too.

Dakota
Dakota Bear
Bear-Bear
Coda
Coda-Bear: combination of the previous two
Daco-Taco: a name assigned by my my brother and his girlfriend
Bouder-bouders (pronounced "boo-ders")
Cocanut (head): a favorite of my father-in-law
Baders: (pronounced "bay-ders") Random derivaition from Bouders.
Butters: a mal-derivation of bouders (my brother never understood this one
Cocoa

Lola
Lola Bug
Buggy-Bug: Lola pushing a shopping cart
Bug
LOOooola (Big exaggerated "O" sound at beginning)
Lola-Cola: also from brother and girlfriend
Bone head
Buggie: an infantilization of the "bug" surname.
(Sometimes I call her "Vet Bill")

Things we call the pair of them:
The girls
Pup-pups
Babies
Bubbies: yet another degradation from the previous
Puptons: stolen adopted terminology from my sister, her boyfriend and their dog

Our dogs are loved and lovers. I can't, literally cannot, look at them without cracking at least the smallest smile. They make life better, and that's a fact. They're our own little four-legged therapists. And they are definitely man's (and woman's) best friends.

Dog Theology, part 11: Fear

Dakota's sweet face

Here's the simple fact: Dakota, despite the fact that she's a 50lb hound, is a scaredee-cat.

She was a stray that found us at only ~8 weeks of age. She'd been food deprived, living out on her own for some time, and was likely abused by an adult man. We suspect the creulty from a man, because her entire life she's been averse to adult males taking significant time to warm up to them. With women and kids she's fine.

A bit of dog psychology: Because of Dakota's early 'dog-hood' her paradigm says the world is a fearful place. It's a place where food is scarce (she still eats every meal as if it were her last), and all manner of things are scary. She has always had a stronger sense of autonomy exuding an air that in the end, she will have to take care of herself. All these things I attribute to her early weeks of life.

Still today, despite the loving home she's spent the rest of her lush life, when faced with something new, her first reaction is fear. Whether it's a large box, a bike or a bunch of groceries, as I carry it into the apartment, Dakota is afraid, because the world is a scary place.

Fear is the dominant force in her life (well....fear and....food).

I'm reminded that perhaps the most often repeated bit of adivce in the Bible, perhaps the simplest and most central core implorment of the Bible, is this message: Do not fear. It's the single most repeated message throughout both Old and New Testaments.

Do not be afraid. It's the first thing the burning bush said to Moses, it's what angels always say when appearing to humans, it's what Jesus said when he appear after the crucifixion narratives. If the Bible could be reduced to a few simple statements, this would surely be one of them.

The Puptons Camping

The Bible was written over the course of hundreds of years by people from a number of different cultures. It would seem that these inspired prophets, these wise sages, these men and women full of life experience who know something about the human condition, all agree on one of the most needed messages for people across cultures and generations. And that message (or at least one of them) is: Do not fear!

I sense Dakota needing to hear this message as well.

In contrast to our 4-legged jet black beauty, our other Dog, Lola, has a quite different personality. Lola's unbringing was very different. When she was about 2 months old we picked her up from someone selling mutt puppies cheap on craig's list. From birth, Lola was surrounded by her dog siblings in a kennel, her parents, other older dogs and a caring human. She recieved regular food, love and all manner of nourishment. Of course, she's gotten nothing less living with us.

And, Lola isn't afraid of anything!

(Except when she's in trouble)

For Lola, the world is a loving place where she is loved by all and loves all in return. She is the most loving little thing you can imagine. She's kind of a lovin' hoe, because she'll give it to anybody. (Lola even likes my dad!, of whom Dakota is mysteriously terrified.)

When I brnig a new person or large strange thing into the apartment, Lola is front and center to check it out and recieve rubbin' if possible. She experiences the full range of pleasure available to a dog. She gives 110% to everything she does (sometimes this ends with a trip to the Vet ER) without reservation or hesitation. Lola is a lover of life, because from life she has received love.

As I go door to door to door through the hospital, visiting the sick, the dying, and those simply here for a minor procedure, I hear peoples' stories, problems, celebrations, problems, gripes, wishes, what's bugging people, their dreams, and did I mention...problems?

Lola dug a whole and then curled up in it

One thing I've noticed is that there are Dakotas all over the place. People living in fear. Might we admit that we all have a bit of Dakota's world view in us. To each of us, somehow, the world is a scary place. People are to be feared. Or certain actions are to be avoided. Or thoughts. Someone's going to hurt me, take my stuff. What I have is fragile. This meal may be my last. We all somehow, seem to be living in some kind of fear. And for most of us, we're experts at hiding our deepest fears, often even from ourselves.

Seeing this trend, the biblical voices urging, imploring, pleading with its readers and hearers sounds as a bugel horn loud and clear: DO NOT FEAR! Admittedly, this is something we could all benefit from hearing and heading.

Through my dogs, I hear God inviting me, inviting us, into a life away from needless fear. I see Jesus in the gospel stories inviting people into life as Lola sees it. With pointedness, Jesus is saying, "Live, love, give, relate, grow, learn, embrace, accept, forgive. And do it all without reservation, hesitation and with 110%." This is the way to life, the way out from fear. When Jesus claimed to be "the way" and "the life" he wasn't saying 'I'm the pathway to heaven. He was saying, "I am the way to life! I am the example."

Jesus was looking for followers, people to live life in the way he was living, a way that leads away from fear and into a brighter life, more full of love.

And...somehow...I got all this from my two puptons. May they keep teaching me how to live and how to love each day.

I'll end with the prayer of a dog owner: "God, make me the person my dog thinks I am."

Reflections on death, Bin Laden, human nature, and thanatology

A week ago Osama Bin Laden, probably the most infamous and likely the most dangerous terrorists in the modern world, was killed during an assault/raid on his lush Pakistan compound.

Shock and unbelief were my first two reactions. Could this be for real? We hunted him for near a decade. I guess I just never expected he'd be found, caught and/or killed. Millions of people across this country and many others celebrated. Parties, drinking, music, all manner of craziness let loose.

President Obama was quoted saying, "Justice has been done." Not trying to nit-pick, but I believe the proper words would actually be, "Revenge has been done." I mean, don't we Americans believe that justice includes a trial, witnesses, a judge and all that mess? Of course, everybody and their mothers know that had Bin Laden been tried he would have been quickly convicted and swiftly killed by the death penalty (costing the state mucho dinero in the end, I might add).

I heard one report that Bin Laden was unarmed and shot in the face. Don't know what is true, though.

In my almost two years as a hospital chaplain I've seen a fair amount of death. Dead people, people about to die, actively dying, and some dying so slowly and subtly that you cannot pin-point the moment when they actually died. Some families are relieved, but most are grieved. Some reminisce on the good times, and some painfully admit that because of the person's addictions/character-flaws/etc there were few, if any, 'good times.' I've seen graceful death, horrific death, painful and peaceful deaths.

Never have I seen death celebrated.

And so, when I heard that Bin Laden was confirmed dead, and it was time to 'partay,' I hesitated. Yes, I felt a sense of relief to hear this terrorist was no longer a threat. I was glad. The revenge in me got a sense of satisfaction. I thought about all those families of the 9/11 attacks and what they must be feeling. I was sad that we lived in a world where we shoot one another in the face. I was sad that we celebrate such things. I was a bit shamed that I too wanted to celebrate. I wondered (and still wonder) what this might mean. A mix of emotions, and I don't know what to make of it all.

I wonder how God receives Osama bin Laden. There are those who believe that only Christians will experience God's grace after death. There are those who believe all people will be welcomed by God after death. I'm sure most Americans would balk at the thought, even the minute suggestion, that it is remotely possible that God might welcome Osama bin Laden (a deeply wounded and broken human) lovingly. I want to believe in a God who can do, who would do, who is capable of, this. Is Bin Laden in hell? Perhaps he lived in a form of hell? Is he now sentenced to endure unending conscious torment in a firey hell? I strongly question whether such a place actually exists. Whether God could tolerate such a place.  

The opposite of judgment is compassion. Both judgment and compassion are natural human responses to differing situations. Is it possible to find any sense of compassion for bin Laden? I struggle to. Would Jesus have compassion for him? So many questions. And, we want answers to them all. So many feelings of joy over a persons death. Revenge, solemness and satisfaction wash over me. A mix of emotions and thoughts so tangled they'll never be unwound and understood. But, isn't that human nature?

I wonder what your reactions are to Bin Laden's death. To this blog post?

Love Wins, by Rob Bell

As far as Christian pastors go, Rob Bell, pastor of Mars Hill Church in Grand Rapids, MI, is a rock star. His third book, Love Wins, was highly anticipated for two reasons. 1) Because his first two, Sex God, and Velvet Elvis, were both very well received, provocative and inspiring. Read my review of Velvel Elvis here. 2) Because of the subtitle and what it might mean for evangelical Christianity. The subtitle is: A book about heaven, hell, and the fate of every person who ever lived.

In my reading, the book's main aim is to challenge some widely held notions about God, the afterlife, heaven and hell. The notion he most challenges is the popular belief that when we die there are two final destinations, heaven or hell, and God will send you to one of them forever. The very fact that this belief is the central crux of many Christians' faith system has made this book quite volatile. Rob Bell was catching criticism for it before it even came out. 

Rob Bell spends a good amount of page space raising questions about, unpacking, deconstructing and balking at the traditional idea of hell (a horrible place you might go after you die where you'll endure unending conscious torment). He points out just what kind of God it would take to sentence so many people (the majority of the human race that has ever lived) to spend forever in hell because of a finite amount of sins committed during a relatively brief life.

To make sure he's covered his bases, Bell acknowledges every single mention of hell in the Bible. Luckily, this isn't a difficult task, because it's not mentioned very much. The Old Testament often mentions a place called Sheol; however, whatever this word actually means (biblical scholars only have a vague idea) it is not synonymous with the modern notion of hell.

In the New Testament, the word most commonly translated as hell is the word "gahenna," which is the name of a valley just outside of Jerusalem where all the city's trash was dumped and burned. Animals often went there scavenging for food and fought over dead carcases gnashing their teeth at each other. The Valley of Henna, otherwise known as the town dump, was a place of perpetual burning fire and gnashing of teeth. I hope with this information it's a bit clearer from where some of the biblical imagery for hell comes.

But, Rob Bell isn't denying the existence of hell altogether. Citing the suffering and pain and torment so many people go through in life, Bell gives a fantastic discussion of the presence of hell on earth, just as Jesus prayed for and acknowledged the presence of heaven on earth.

The punch of Love Wins comes in the chapter titled "The Good News Is Better Than That." He points out how often our dominant ideas of hell often impair our hearing of the chorus of scripture passages that reference God's efforts to redeem all humankind. He points to Paul's statement in 2 Corinthians 5 that "God is reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them." Bell seems to be singing about the inclusivity of God of all people and all things even while noting the exclusive idea that it is all happening through Jesus.

He discusses and re-frames a popular verse in John 14, you know the one, "I am the way, the truth, and the life, no one comes to the father except through me." Too often this verse has been quoted as if it means that Jesus is in the way between us and God, like a linebacker, and the only way to get to God is to somehow get past Jesus. But Rob reinterprets this passage (more true to it's original intent, I think) by saying:

What [Jesus] doesn't say is how, or when, or in what manner the mechanism functions that gets people to God through him. He doesn't even state that those coming to the Father through him will even know that they are coming exclusively through him. He simply claims that whatever God is doing in the world to know and redeem and love and restore the world is happening through him.

What Jesus does is declare that he, and he alone, is saving everybody! In spite of what's been done to us or what we've done, God has made peace with us.  

Finishing his book with a thrust of foresight, Rob Bell tells us that the good news, the gospel that Jesus talk about, is about participating in the Kingdom of God, the party God is throwing right now, right here on earth. He continues,

So when the gospel is diminished to a question of whether or not a person will "get into heaven," that reduces the good news to a ticket, a way to get past the bouncer and into the club. The good news is better than that.

When the gospel is understood primarily in terms of entrance rather than joyous participation, it can actually serve to cut people off from the explosive, liberating experience of the God who is an endless giving circle of joy and creativity. Life has never been about just "getting in." It's about thriving in God's good world.  

The book is well written, as is expected. Bell has a unique writing style making his material very readable. In only a few sittings I read the short 200 pages. It reads much like a sermon. But that sounds really boring. It's like a really really good sermon, a conversational one. My sister could probably read this book in 20 minutes.

I really like this message put forward by Bell and so many other pastors and writers today, that Christianity is not centered around getting into heaven, or getting "saved" for the afterlife; but rather, following Jesus is about the here, and now, and today, and the kingdom of God on earth. Or as Tony Campolo puts it, "The kingdom of God is a party!"  

Rob Bell ends his book in the typical style that he ends his sermons. I will use it to end this blog post. "May you experience this vast, expansive infinite, indestructible love that has been yours all along. May you discover that this love is as wide as the sky and as small as the cracks in your heart no one else knows about. And may you know, deep in your bones, that love wins."

May you be blessed

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, by Anne Fadiman

One of the more interesting and informative books I've read lately (and a nice break from my contemporary theology kick) has been The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down: A Hmong Child, Her American Doctors and the Collision of Two Cultures, by Anne Fadiman.

Lia Lee is a Hmong (pronounced with a silent "H") girl born shortly after her parents immigrated to the US as refugees after all the warring and fighting that went on in Vietnam and Laos. As an infant, Lia began having seizures (known in the Hmong culture as "the spirit catches you and you fall down") which bought her regular visits to the local ER at the Merced Community Medical Center (MCMC) in Merced, CA, a town where thousands of Hmong refugees have settled since the war during which Hmong soldiers fought on the US's side by the way.

With these visits brought the clashing of modern western medicine with ancient Hmong spiritual and medical practices. Over the course of several years the staff at MCMC got to know Lia Lee and her case very well as well as the cultural barrier or rather world-view barrier between them. More than a simple language barrier, the Hmong people have an understanding of health care so different than our own that both sides can talk though an interpreter but neither is able to hear the other. The two sides talked past each other.

For instance, at one point the doctors feared they had to give the worst news to Lia's parents by saying there's nothing more to be done and Lia will die within a week. Lia's father, Nao Kao, grabbed Lia (still a toddler at the time) disconnected everything from her and ran out of the hospital! Code Pink! Why did he do this? Because, in Hmong culture, the doctor stating that Lia will die soon is communicating that he is planning on killing her soon. Because, who in their right mind could even begin to try and predict the future. Yet this is something doctors love doing. (And, isn't it a little silly when you think about it?)

Fadiman has sure done her homework. Though the backbone of the book is the story of Lia Lee and her medical journey, being admitted some 16 times into the hospital in her first 3 years of life, the book as a whole is a treatise of, or rather a window into, the Hmong culture. Packed with information, she artfully takes you through Hmong history, customs, war time troubles, immigration instances, their adaptation (or lack thereof) to American culture, and so much more. And after over 300 pages and information overload, I still felt like I had only scratched the surface.

The writing style is somewhere in the funky space between novel and documentary. Fadiman walks this thin line very well. Not only does the reader develop an attachment to the Lee family, but also to the Hmong culture. My heart went out to their struggle in refugee camps in Thailand and Cambodia, I learned to understand their resistance to conforming to American culture (one of the defining characteristics of Hmongs), and I chuckled at some of the stunts they pulled that are documented in this generous book.

A few Hmong men went fishing in a nearby pond marked with signs that read "No fishing." Even if they could've read the sign, the concept of a "no fishing" pond is untenable to them, because how else are you supposed to find food? A police officer approached them to ask them to stop, and they all dropped to their knees ready to be executed. This is very telling of the environment they left when coming to the US.

Police were once called on a Hmong apartment because at a birthday celebration they were slaughtering a live cow. This freaked out the nearby Americans, but really, where do you think the meat in the super Walmart comes from? It's also common place for Hmong to slaughter their own pigs, chickens and rabbits, oh my!

Fadiman wrote about driving into the parking lot of an apartment building full of Hmong and noticing that more of it was dedicated to growing vegetables, spices and fruits than to parking cars. They would fill shoe boxes, old buckets, shoes!, dish pans, anything they could put dirt into, and plant herbs in them out in the parking lot.

One American couple, who had a Hmong family living above them, noticed a drip in their apartment ceiling. They called maintenance who went upstairs to check things out. Entering the Hmong family's apartment, he found that they had covered the entire living room floor with a foot of dirt, planted crops, and watered them!

Is this crazy behavior? No. This is how you get food.

This is probably a book that every medical professional should read. Not because they necessarily need to understand Hmong culture, but as an example of the power of cultural barriers. Though she does not "die," the story of Lia Lee and her seizures is extremely tragic. Ultimately, a failure in communication on both cultures' parts.

There's so much more to say about this truly monumental work, but I cannot say it all here. There's a reason why this book won so many awards and is an international best seller. If you get a chance to pick it up, I promise you will be enlightened, informed and enriched.

Bailey

My great-grand mother, Ethel Leona Clark Bailey, recently passed away on the morning of April 21st 2011. Born in 1907 she lived for 103 years, 9 months and 26 days if my calendar math is correct.

Since about 1990 she lived together with my grand mother, her daughter, just 5 minutes away from my parents in Asheville, NC. For the latter half of my childhood and thus far in my adulthood she's been around at all the family gatherings, celebrations and holidays. "Are the grandmas coming?" was a common question.

During her life, she moved some 60 times (yes, I said sixty moves), because her husband helped to build railroads. She later bought an old church and remodeled it into a hotel in Nebraska. She did so many other things which I couldn't possibly or adequately recount here.

Until just after her 103rd birthday she was a regular and avid volunteer at ABCCM, an Asheville based crisis ministry out to alleviate the effects of poverty in western NC.

You can view her obituary here.

Grandma Bailey spans the gap, for me, between today and the American Civil War, because her grand father (as I understand it) fought in the Civil War. And so, she was alive during his time and during our time. Amazing.

All the years she's lived in Asheville has been a blessing to me. I don't think many people have a chance to get to know their great grand parents. I think I got part of my sense of humor from her too, because even at 100+ years of age she was still cracking jokes that you wouldn't expect. One of my favorites was at lunch one day when we somehow got to talking about politics and government. Grandma Bailey chimed in saying something like, "I'll bet the government did expect me to last this long when they started writing social security checks."

I once got her a birthday card that read something like this, Front cover: So, how old are you now? 50? 60? 70?..."  Inside cover: "Just start banging your cane when I get there." That card was a hoot that got reference for years down the road, mostly by grandma Bailey (who didn't have a cane, mind you).

What was truly amazing was her physical health. As I understand it, she only took one prescription medication and some vitamins. Though her hearing and vision were strongly impaired, she still listened and looked at you as if you were of utmost importance. She walked on her own up until her final few days in a nursing home and only needed aid with steps or getting out of big cushy chairs.

Crossword puzzles kept her mind sharp. For years, everyday she did the news paper crossword. When her eyes began straining too hard, the family bought her this viewer which blew up the image on a bigger screen just above the table top (like those viewers for archived news papers or something). She once got a daily calendar for Christmas with a crossword for each day. They were supposed to be tough New York crosswords too. And, I think it was March when she'd completed the entire year's worth of puzzles. That rascal.

About a month ago it began increasingly difficult for her to swallow, and she developed a bladder infection. She went to the hospital and a few days later to a nursing home as she needed just a little bit more attention than my grandma could give her. Two and a half weeks ago, I flew into Asheville in preparation to do a wedding (see previous post). I was so glad to have the opportunity to visit with Grandma Bailey one final time in the nursing home. Though the early stages of dementia were creeping around inside her mind, my wife and I caught her on a good day. Lucid and spunky, she knew who we were and wondered why she had to be there when she should have been home peeling potatoes for dinner.

During my work as a chaplain I've seen the pain of dementia and how it often manisfests as aggression toward those close to a person (e.g. family). And, I experienced this pain first hand after the first two times I told her "I love you." She responded with a slight bit of hostility. I understood this response, but I cannot say it still didn't hurt a little. We visited and talked about her room, about starving children around the world (a topic which she's very passionate about), and she talked briefly about the hotel in Nebraska. After a wonderful but difficult 30 minute visit it was time to go. I risked another, "I love you," to no avail. We slowly said goodbye and slowly rose from our chairs to slowly leave, knowing this would be our last chance to see her. But, as we walked out of the room and waived, the last words I heard her mutter in that 103 year old voice box were, "Bye, I love you I love you I love you."

Heart = warmed.

Goodbye grandma Bailey.
You will be always remembered,
Always missed.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

"Holey" Matrimony

I remember my first sermon, my first eulogy, my first time performing in front of a crowd and my first impromptu stand up routine when I unabashedly mimicked Rondell Sheridan. Now, to this list I can add my first wedding.

Lauren Milam (pronounced my-lum) grew up side by side with Lauren Keyes, my wife's younger sister. A close friend of my wife's family, when it came time to "git hitched" (that's how we say it in 'da South), the whole Keyes crew was signed up to attend and the minister who married into the family was asked to officiate. (Officiate is such a funny word for weddings. It makes me think of a refferree in a boxing match. Maybe we should give all brides and grooms boxing gloves!)

I was honored to be asked and accepted excited to put my own Nathan-flavored spice into the taste of a wedding. The groom was a good chap named Brandon Cameron, a blessed soul able to withstand, handle, or perhaps simply survive the strong, confident, vivacious, life-loving, head-strong, caring and driven personality of our lovely bride. (no wonder she fit in with the Keyes girls so well.)

It turns out that among the many public tasks that ministers are called upon to perform or facilitate, weddings are among the simplest. This is true for a few observable reasons. 1) Most of the material is pre-scripted. There's not a whole lot that I had to creatively come up with myself. 2) The focus is not on me. Everyone is watching the two love birds and waiting for me to finish so they can see a kiss and have a booty-dancing party afterwards. 3) Talking about love, harmony, peace and all that gooey good feeling stuff is my specialty. It wasn't difficult coming up with advice and admonishings for the couple, because ultimate, that is what my Christian faith is all about.

In the end, it all went great. Due to some mild inclimate weather (just a few tornadoes ripping apart central NC), the outside planned ceremony had to be moved inside into this horribly gorgeous ballroom. I was able to successfully stay out of the way, keep my pronouns straight, make some rather clever jokes and get the two married in just about 20 minutes.

After the ceremony, the father of the bride thanked me for keeping it up beat and not making everyone cry. "Oh," I thought, "should I have gone for more mooshy gooshey instead?" But that wouldn't have been as authentically me. Because, let's be honest. I'm always gonna go for the jokes before the tears. But did I leave anything out. Where there holes in these nuptuals? Would going for completely standard wedding stuff have been more holy matrimony than holey matrimony? Personally, I don't think so.

After all, who wouldn't want a wedding where the minister said these sorts of things: 

It was Rita Rudner, actress and comedian, who said: I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.


I read a story about a wise man whose son once asked him about marriage. The son said, “Is it true? Dad, I heard that in ancient China, a man doesn't know his wife until he marries.” The wise man answered, “That happens everywhere, son, everywhere!”

Lauren: Just remember, a husband is living proof that a wife can take a joke. Brandon, remember, the husband who wants a happy marriage should learn to keep his mouth shut and his checkbook open.

Brandon was too nervous to propose in person so he talked a dolphin into doing it for him.

I tried to include a video of the bride walking down the isle on her daddy's arm, but the blog uploader, or my internet connection didn't work well enough. Sorry for only a few pictures. My wife took mostly video of the "good moments," because the lighting wasn't great for our camera. But, you should know that while lauren walked down the isle, I was standing next to a nearly balling groom. Very sweet.

I really enjoyed the experience, and look forward to doing more weddings in the future. Thank you Brandon and Lauren (if you ever read this) for letting me take part in such an important day in both of your lives. I wish you the best.